Intent
by scullyseviltwin
Summary: It been her intent to steal his heart...


Thank you Lauren for the beta and the smilies.

* * *

It had been her original intention to steal his heart, to just be herself and therefore, be everything that he needed.

But back then, she had been a foolish child. She had been a simple, wanton creature born of knowledge and lust and knew nothing of love. No, she knew everything, but not love.

It had not been until a solitary night at Java, spent dissecting the finer points of ladybugs that she had felt a sort of shiver wrack her being. It was a shiver spurred from pure emotion, pure meaning. The young Sara Sidle wished nothing but to be with the man who sat before her, staring out the window speaking about wings and body mass oblivious to the gleam in her eye.

Taken with everything he was saying, she sighed and settled back in the booth, listening to him speak. His voice just held everything she'd thought a male's voice should. Cadence and pace, his speech slowed her brain and lulled her to sleep, ignoring the caffeine screeching through her veins.

She'd awoken with his hand on her chin, guiding her up to his mouth slowly, giving her time to move away. She hadn't. They shared one lone, strange, awkward kiss that night and then he walked her to her apartment, not having the confidence to kiss her again. So he left her that way, key in the lock, standing on her doorstep, watching him retreat-watching her professor retreat.

Sara felt strangely whole that night and had slept deeply, thoughts of ladybugs flitting about in her dreams.

She'd grown somewhere along the way. Advanced, matured, moved on. Sara Sidle had left her young self behind and accepted the responsibility of an adult easily. The transition had been smooth and nearly flawless, had it not been for that one-night stand she had mere days after her twenty-third birthday. There were minor roadblocks, but other than that, she was fine.

No, she was the epitome of responsible and independent. Or so she though, so she wished.

It wasn't that she loved him, it really wasn't...

Or maybe it was.

Did she even know what love was? Was she supposed to know? Was it one of those feelings that just came naturally and one knew, or did one really have to know?

It confused her so she pushed it aside. She tried to push it aside. She went on with her work, with her studies, Doctor Gil Grissom meandering at the back of her skull, pacing back and forth, making it seem like she was waiting for something.

Eight years later, she got it. But it hadn't happened the way she'd intended.

They'd laughed. Oh yes, they'd laughed a lot. They'd kissed and they'd giggled and they'd kissed. It had been awkward and there had been too much talking. Too much asking, too much proclaiming. There had been an abundance of some things and a lack of others. It was so very far from perfect... but she had never felt so fulfilled, so loved. Insanity, too much of it perhaps, but the good type.

They ate cold pizza in the morning and kissed again, mouths tasting of onions and peppers and they made love that way. The sheets were dirty with their sweat, with epithelials. They smelled like the both of them, together, and Sara considered stealing a pillowcase and taking it with her. But that would be creepy and... creepy.

He'd bitten her neck a bit too hard and had gotten her hair in his mouth at one point when she had gone to kiss him. He had to inch away and pull the strands from his tongue. She said sorry, that her hair probably tasted gross and the resumed kissing.

They lay in bed and just relaxed. He actually had the New York Times delived to his home, so they lay there, she naked, he in his boxers, filling in the supposedly difficult clues. She'd grin and he'd grin back and the nervousness that would attempt to accumulate would dissipate and leave them in their little literary nest.

Later on that day, he freaked out because she didn't have pants on and was eating salad in his kitchen and she'd thrown her fork into the bowl and the bowl into the sink and stormed back into the bedroom and dressed.

Grissom, realizing what an asinine mistake he had made, placed his forehead against the cool wood of his closed bedroom door. He was an idiot, he admitted it to himself, and smacked his head against the wood three times in rapid sucession. She thought he was knocking. "What?" She bit out, followed by a curse as she tugged on her jeans.

Sure, she was pissed. Very pissed, but she listened to what he had to say. She'd give him the benefit of the doubt just one last time.

"I'm just, Sara, I'm just... I'm not good at this. Take your pants off." Grissom said, and nearly stumbled into the room when she opened the door. She wore a quirky smile and no pants. He smiled then and kissed her and placed his forehead against hers. 'I'm going to, I'm going to make it work. And... that's all."

She smiled and kissed him on the cheek.

It had been her original intention to steal his heart, but he eventually just gave it willingly.


End file.
